


Unfulfilled dreams

by FakeCirilla9



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Rape/Non-con, Secrets, Sharing Body Heat, Treasure Hunting, and John gets it all wrong, but Black Jack is his own warning, inaccurate maritime expertise, it's not really mentioned, perhaps a bit internalized homophobia, you'd miss it if not knowing the canon probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/pseuds/FakeCirilla9
Summary: John and Jamie sharing a night together in the wild. Almost.
Relationships: Jamie Fraser/Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall, Jamie Fraser/Lord John Grey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Unfulfilled dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Short as it is, I think I still managed to confuse the timeline. But this way the lads got to spend some time together so who cares ;)  
> A wee bit AU to treasure hunting the moors of Scotland.

“Unfulfilled dreams”

The island set behind mists appeared almost like Avalon floating on the waters, suspended between worlds. Together with the picturesque ruins of a castle is made a perfect place for a hidden treasure that would be of no shame to any adventure novel.

Only, the treasure was not there. All that was present consisted of sea birds, some seals, two men, one boat at the shore and several empty ramshackle chambers.

“Well, as ye see, the auld man blethered in fever, m’ lord.”

“So it would seem,” sighed John, a bit resentful about the dashed hopes, no matter how implausible they were. A chance to win back the position in England, to restore family’s honour… Yet it was no use to dwell on what could have been. “Let us go back.”

“I dinnae think it’s possible.”

“Why not?”

“The tidal wave is too high. We need to wait till it lowers.”

Ignoring the advice, John succeeded only in getting thoroughly wet under Jamie’s rather amusing gaze. John had come to consider him a friend, yet sometimes the Scot was really vexatious. He had a foul habit of making him feel like a child. There was a number of times when John felt scolded by the prisoner and only sometimes Jamie voiced his opinions. It was astonishing how many emotions the pair of eyes partly hidden behind the red bangs could conceive. At times it felt as if the inmate knew better how to run a prison than the governor of said prison and longed to tell him so. He didn’t have to. John felt it in his stares.

Now he dripped saltwater, defeated by the treacherous currents and whirls among rocks that showed only when the watermark was low, while Jamie stood high and mostly dry. He didn’t laugh though for which John was silently grateful and when Jamie extended a hand to him, John took it. It wasn’t like his pride could suffer any more at this point.

“Mon, let’s get ye oot of the wind at least before ye get sick.” Jamie led him towards the ruins.

“Are you worried about me?” John smiled.

“Of course. What another governor would bribe me with wine and pheasants?”

John smiled wider.

The wind wasn’t that bad as it would dry his uniform. Far worse was the fog that clogged everything in wetness and the drizzle that finished the work until every chiselled stone and sharp rock dripped woefully.

No wood would catch fire in this weather: not the old timber of a beam sticking out of the hole in the ceiling in their tiny hideout, nor the turf even though Scots seemed to be able to work miracles with it.

Finally, they gave up on the unsuccessful attempts of starting a fire or a conversation and went to sleep in the hope of shortening the time that needed to be waited.

Lying on the cold floor, John longed to creep closer to Jamie and cuddle up next to him but the redhead made it very clear how he doesn't wish such a company. In the furthest from John corner of the room, he huddled up, wrapped in his own arms tightly wound around his body, with his back to John. If John would not know him enough already to consider him the epitome of courage he would think it a defensive pose. But he knew better. And he knew it's disgust. With him, with what he is.

No, not really him. Jamie was all gentlemanly and genuinely polite to him most of their time together. But John couldn't forget that expression he made when John touched him no matter how hard he tried to wipe it from his memory. The closed-off face, the suddenly cold gaze and freezing to the point of bloodcurdling voice. _Take yer hands off me. Or I'll kill ya_.

John shuddered and it was partly from the memory but also from the cold seeping to him from all around. The air seemed to be molten frost with ghost-like wisps of mist winding through it. The floor was moist, his makeshift grass bed no better and his wet clothes clung heavily to him. Droplets rolled down the stone walls.

And Jamie's large body was close in the small warden house, so close John could nearly imagine his body warmth.

The Scot shifted as if uncomfortable from his roaming stare. John quickly averted his eyes but it was too late. The red shag of hair moved as Jamie glanced at him over one wide shoulder. Sometimes, he had the ability to make John feel as much an irresponsible brat as Hal never failed to do. This was one of these times. The longer the stare lasted, the more uncomfortable John got, dreading the angry words bound to arise. It was much too long for a quick uncaring _I caught ye_ glance. Jamie considered and assessed him and under that judging gaze, John felt nearly robbed off breath.

Finally, he drew in a shaky inhale through his clinking teeth, having enough of the condensing tension. But that moment it was Jamie who broke the silence.

“Ye look frozen.”

“Do I?” John fought to keep the tremble that wracked him time and again out of his voice, “I feel- more like... drowned.”

Jamie made a sound that might be a laugh of someone equally cold perhaps and turned bodily to him. It nearly implied itself to propose getting closer to preserve the warmth when the excuse was so easy. It seemed reasonable. Proper even in the situation. And yet there was that mien which reminder made John willing to face death rather than risk to see again.

“Maybe we should... Do ye want to ..I could- next to each other,” Jamie's voice was strangely awkward. In the Godforsaken post, he was the one that could speak with John at the level the aristocrat was used to. He knew more erudite words than most of the wardens. He could well be more educated than John himself and certainly more experienced, more worldly. So the contrast with his usual unselfconscious confidence was striking.

“I thought you don't want to be anywhere near me like that.”

“I dinnae,” the voice was a harsh bark now and John flinched. He hoped Jamie would take it for another shudder of cold.

Jamie mastered his temper for his next words were less filled with spite and only the _rr_ grazed more than usual.

“Yet mair I dinnae freeze here to death.”

“It’s not a particularly enticing idea to me either.”

“So…”

Jamie crawled closer. John turned towards him too and the other man visibly hesitated. Yet he toiled on. His face was dark but that might have been the lack of light beside the feeble stars half-covered with clouds and less obscured by the hollow roof.

One hand settled across John hesitantly. John raised his own to place it at Jaime's breast in turn.

“Naw-”

John withdrew his hand as if scorched.

“I'm sorry.”

“Jist dinnae touch me.”

“A-alright.”

Despite his blunder, Jamie didn't retreat. One arm wrapped loosely across John's chest, the other wound under his head. John raised himself a bit to allow Jamie to slid the hand under his shoulders, careful to keep his own hands to himself.

Like this, John could Jamie's heat emanating from him. Or maybe Jamie's closeness evoked in him warmth for reasons different than simple physics. He was tensed, though, to not to break the moment that felt fragile like an empty glass of wine.

“Like this,” Jamie said and John wondered which of them it was directed to, “that's bearable.”

His body aligned now with John's was rigid, though. When John stole a glance at him he stared at the inexistent ceiling.

John wondered if any of them would get any sleep tonight but for now, he chose to cherish the moment. Even if Jamie was abhorred with what John was, it was at least a weaker feeling of despising than to wish him death. He must really like him if he decided to do something against himself in order to preserve John's life. Well, that was a bit extreme. In order to make John comfortable. Or something in between…

Jamie woke with a jerk and almost leapt away from the man in a red coat whose limbs were entangled with his. Jostled, the man roused too.

John smiled at him with the smile of a boy, while Jamie fought to maintain a blank face.

“You're a strange man, Mr Fraser.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Even for a Scot.”

“And you're a fine man… for an Englishman.”

Jamie’s tone was light but his choice of words made John wonder, besides flooding him with an almost unbearably warm feeling.

“I- Do you really think so?”

“Aye.” This time, he sounded serious.

John studied him for a while. Perhaps for too long because Jamie stood up abruptly, righting the rags of his clothes.

“Let’s go back ere the next high tide comes.”


End file.
